


And There Was Only One Bed

by kiddie_po0ol



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Communication Issues, Cuddling, Friends to Lovers, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Night Terrors, Only One Bed, Pretty much anything you can think of, Teen Angst, being sold to one direction, every trope possible, falling asleep and being carried to bed, not all of these apply in the first chapter, orbs, showering together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:40:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27563944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiddie_po0ol/pseuds/kiddie_po0ol
Summary: This is an attempt to write the most cliche fanfiction ever and include every trope I could think of. Enjoy a friends to lovers between Otabek and Yuri. There are no eyes, only orbs, and most importantly, there was only one bed.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

If Yuri Plisetsky had enough hair to throw it into a messy bun, he would have done it.

Unfortunately, his shock of fair blonde hair only fell to his shoulders, slightly longer than it was in Season 1. Yuri wore it longer now to show growth and change in his character. It also served as a visual indicator of the passage of time.

While Yuri secretly coveted the famously long silver locks of his fellow Russian skater, Victor, he didn’t want anyone to think he was attempting to emulate the world-famous athlete. In fact, one of his biggest fears was people thinking he admired or even liked Victor in any way. Therefore, he kept his hair at a safe shoulder length. 

In lieu of a bun, Yuri settled for a short, hasty ponytail. Most of the time he liked the way his mop of hair fell into his face, preferably obscuring at least one eye. However, figure skating required tying his hair back so he could actually see the rink. 

And today, he was seeing more than just the rink. 

Yuri, along with most of the professional competitive figure skaters around the world, were preparing for the Grand Prix this year. This included his Kazakh friend, Otabek, whom he hadn’t seen since last year. 

Yuri was determined to win again and continue what he knew would be a record-breaking gold-medal-winning streak. After winning the Grand Prix final last year during his senior debut, Yuri was sure he was the absolute best figure skater ever. Better than Victor, even. 

However, he was not showing the form of a true world-record winning figure skater today. As Yakov was quick to point out, Yuri’s jumps were under-rotated and his free leg sloppy. His mind was distracted. 

Yuri knew he only had a few more days before he competed in the finals. He had placed first in the cups leading up to the Grand Prix, but he knew he had to be on his A-game to even have the chance of squeaking out a win against Victor and his protegee, Japanese Yuuri, during the finals. His coach Yakov kept barking corrections at him, and he did his best to follow them, but his mind was preoccupied with thinking about how later that day he had a date. 

Well, a hangout with a friend. Same thing.

<>

He had first seen Otabek at the hotel the first day they arrived in Barcelona, which is where the Grand Prix final took place in Season 1 and I’m pretty sure the location doesn’t change year-to-year. 

When Yuri, along with the rest of the Russians- plus Yuuri, since he had moved to St Petersburg from Japan to train under Victor- arrived at the hotel, he immediately saw that familiarly stoic face. 

“Yuri, come check in,” Yakov barked, but Yuri waved him off, already making a beeline to Otabek, who detached from his own coach.

“Hi, Otabek.” He left most of what he wanted to say unsaid. _I haven’t seen you in a year. I missed you so much. Why didn’t you come visit me? Why didn’t you text me more often._

The older boy smiled warmly. “Hi, little fairy.”

Yuri blanched, flushed. “Jesus, Otabek, don’t call me that.”

“What?” Otabek grinned. “Everyone calls you that. It’s cute.”

Yuri rolled his orbs. “First of all, it’s _Russian_ Fairy. And it’s not cute. Something tells me _“fairy”_ isn’t as much a slur in Japanese as it is English.”

“I wouldn’t call it a slur so much as an offensive term. What about ‘ _kitten?’”_ Otabek teased.

Yuri’s face flushed and he quickly turned away. “What? No, Otabek. You can’t call me that. This isn’t that kind of fic.” Yuri started towards the desk. “Let’s just check in.”

Otabek mock-pouted and trailed after him. “Victor gets to call you kitten.”

“What? Gross. No he doesn’t.”

“Yes he does,” Otabek said. “I looked on your wiki page and it listed Koneko-chan as one of your nicknames. That means kitten.”

“I- Wh- Well, you still can’t call me it. People will...assume things. Anyways,” he continued, “if you really looked at my wiki page, you should have known the nickname I like is Ice Tiger.”

“I’m not using that nickname. It sounds like it was made up by an edgy 15 year-old.”

Yuri punched Otabek in the shoulder, but he barely seemed to register it. _Dumbass. I missed you._

<>

Yuri glanced over to Yakov, who stood on the side of the rink glowering. He was probably upset with Yuri’s lack of focus. Or it was just his face- it was hard to tell with Yakov.

He was cooling down now, doing lazy loops and spins and using up the rest of the time he had on the ice before the people who had reserved the rink next arrived. It was, of course, Yuuri and Victor, who always arrived late. Since Yakov was coaching both Yuri and Victor, and Victor was coaching Yuuri, they all reserved slots at the rink back-to-back. It made sense that Victor was competing again this season, because Yuri knew that was the generally accepted fan theory. _Coaching and competing at the same time? Sounds exhausting._ Yuri didn’t know how Victor kept it up, especially when the pair was placed in simultaneous qualifiers on different continents leading up to the Grand Prix.

“ _Yuuu_ rio!” Speak of the devil: an infuriatingly peppy voice called from the side of the rink, and Yuri didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He ignored the silver-haired figure he saw waving furiously out of the corner of his eye until Yakov finally called him over to the side of the rink with a sharp “Yuri!”

Skating to a stop before the pair, Yuri continued to ignore Victor to the best of his abilities, trying to only listen to Yakov as he gave him aggressive advice on his skating. Yakov ignored Victor as well, who was still waiting on the side eagerly. 

Yakov still maintained his grudge against Victor ever since the younger Russian had left to play coach to Yuuri last year. Victor had literally gotten down on his hands and knees asking Yakov to take him back as a student. _“This is how they apologize in Japan! It’s called Dogeza!”_ He had shared excitedly as he did it. Yuri was surprised Yakov had actually agreed to coach Victor again, but he supposed it made sense for the plot and also because adding another Russian coach character would be confusing. Plus, he knew Yakov had a soft spot for all his students.

Yakov was already yelling before Yuri even skated over, because he was Russian and being angry and is a stereotype of Russians. 

“Yuri, if you were my own son I’d slap you. What was that out there? You aren’t good enough to slack off this much. Are you an idiot? Or do you just not care?” 

“You wouldn’t slap me,” Yuri mumbled.

“Yes I would, and I might do it soon if you don’t get your act together,” Yakov warned. 

“You’re full of hot air, old man. Your whole character _thing_ is that you’re gruff and aggressive but you care and love all your students. You just won’t admit it.” Yuri stuck his leg out and spun leisurely in place. _This is called a Camel Spin,_ thought Yuri, for no reason other than to show off how I researched that for this fic.

Yakov grumbled something in angry Russian and turned away from his disappointing student. Victor immediately took advantage of the opening and stuck his face into Yuri’s personal space. 

“Yurio, I haven’t seen you in ages!” Victor smiled, looking genuinely excited to see the younger boy. Victor was always genuine, truly the antithesis to Yuri. 

“You saw me this morning. We flew here together.” Yuri replied flatly. He looked around. “Where’s your beaux, anyways?” _Not that I care._

“Sleeping,” Victor said, his eyes softening as he presumably imagined his slumbering fiance. He stepped back to give Yuri space to come off the ice and start unlacing his skates.

“Stop making that stupid face,” Yuri rolled his orbs. “You shouldn’t- what is it?” He frowned, switching to his accented English. “- _wear your emotions on your sleeve.”_ He had learned the phrase from Yuuri’s friend from home, Yuuko, who didn’t speak great English but apparently knew a lot of idioms in the language.

Victor cocked his head like an overgrown puppy. “What does that mean?”

“It means, stop being gross about Yuuri,” Yuri replied, returning to Russian.

“That reminds me,” Victor said, raising his finger, face more serious now- “you should really try to use English around Yuuri. He’s learning Russian very well, but he still feels left out because you often speak very fast and he can’t understand you.”

“No,” Yuri replied. 

Just then, the aforementioned Japanese Yuuri burst in, hair unkempt and iconic blue jacket rumpled. 

“Yuuri!” Victor smiled ear-to-ear. “My Katsudon!”

Grateful for the interruption, Yuri turned his attention to removing his second skate and began stretching out as the pair jabbered to each other in a slew of English, the common language between the international pair. Yuri was grateful Otabek spoke Russian fluently, so it was easy to talk to him. Not that their relationship included a lot of speaking. _Maybe I should learn Kazakh,_ he thought. _Would that be sweet, or weird?_

Victor reached over to ruffle Yuuri’s messy black hair, but Yuuri swatted his hand away. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Yuuri gasped, out of breath.

“You need to learn to set your own alarms, Yuuri-chan! You can’t always rely on me!” Victor chastised him teasingly.

Yuuri looked somewhere between exasperated and defeated as he set his bag down and pulled out his skates. “I rely on you because we sleep in the same room, Victor. I trusted you to wake me up.”

 _I wish I could sleep in the same room as Otabek,_ Yuri thought, distracted. 

Yuuri and Victor bickered back and forth for a bit before Yuuri looked up at Yuri.

“Hi, Yurio!” Yuuri smiled, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

“Привет,” Yuri replied, and Victor glared at him. 

“Privet!” Yuuri smiled, unphased and seemingly excited to practice his Russian. “Um, how are you is ‘ _как поживаешь_ ,’ Right?”

“Da,” said Victor, puffed with pride at Yuri’s trilingual abilities. 

«Хорошо, спасибо», - ответил Yuri.

“Wait, that’s not fair,” said Yuri said, his face falling. “You can’t put your speech tags in Russian, too. That makes it harder”

«Мне все равно, - сказал Юрий, - а ты меня не заставишь».

“Yuri, at least speak in the Roman alphabet,” Victor chastised. “Cryllic is harder. You’re being difficult for no reason.”

«В конце концов, ему нужно выучить это», - заметил Юрий, наклоняясь, чтобы потянуться. «Я помогаю ему».

“What are you guys talking about?” Yuuri asked.

Виктор нахмурился. «Не нужно быть исключением. Вы должны помочь ему учиться, начав с легкого. ты даже не говоришь по-русски. Похоже, ты только что перевел все это в Google».

«Я не собираюсь тупить ради него. Он не мой тупой парень», - ответил Юрий, просто чтобы подстрекать. Он встал и поднял сумку и все остальное. «Пока, Виктор, Юри. Увидимся позже».

Yuri walked out in a teenaged huff. 

“What?” said Yuri, confused as to what just happened.

<>

Otabek was waiting in the lobby when Yuri came up behind him and kicked him in the back, angsty anime-boy style.

“Hey,” Otabek said, turning to greet him with a smile. He had a motorcycle helmet on, and offered a second to Yuri. “I thought we’d go for a ride. For old time’s sake. And because I’m a side character and my only character traits are looking cool and riding a motorcycle. So if I don’t do that, who am I?” 

“That sounds good,” Yuri replied as he took the offered helmet. “And don’t be too hard on yourself. In the _Welcome to the Madness_ bonus comic it was revealed you also like to DJ.” 

“I guess you’re right,” Otabek said, turning towards the glass hotel doors. “I rode a motorcycle in that, too.”

“Where do you want to go?” Yuri asked. 

“Hmm. Maybe that overlook we went to before.”

“That would be nice. For old time’s sake?”

“No,” Otabek shook his head. “I just don’t know any other places in Barcelona besides the ones featured in the anime.”

They ended up at a tiny lunch spot, where they ate outside at a glass-topped table. Yuri ate ravenously, starving from practice. _I didn’t even work that hard,_ he thought shamefully. _I definitely don’t deserve this._

Otabek wasn’t one to offer up conversation if he wasn’t pressed for it, and Yuri was too preoccupied with eating to talk much, so they sat in silence for the most part. 

_We’ve been apart for a whole year,_ Yuri thought suddenly, _and neither one of us feels the need to tell the other anything. Shouldn’t we be more excited to see each other?_ He felt a touch of anxiety gnaw in his stomach. 

_It’s fine,_ he assured himself at the same time Otabek finally spoke.

“What about ‘Yuri-chan?’”

Yuri stopped mid-bite. “...what about it?”

“Can I call you that?”

“Um, no,” Yuri frowned. “JJ calls me that. And I don’t like him.”

“Isn’t that weird?” Otabek remarked. “He’s Canadian. I don’t see why he would even know ‘chan’ is a diminutive in Japanese.”

“It’s because the show’s in Japanese, baka,” Yuri rolled his orbs. “See, that’s why I say _baka._ I don’t really have a lot of personality traits outside of being an angsty teenage anime boy, so writing a fic without me saying ‘baka’ is like ‘what’s the point?’, y’know? _”_

“Right,” said Otabek, and Yuri blushed, embarrassed by his brief rambling. 

There was a slight pause before Otabek spoke again tentatively. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Yuri looked up. “Of course.” 

“You never really talk about your parents,” he started. 

_Oof, getting right to the emotional backstory, huh?_ Yuri picked at his food as he waited for Otabek to continue, but he didn’t. 

“...Are you gonna actually ask something, or what?” Yuri said finally.

“Hm?” 

“You said you wanted to ask me something,” Yuri said, “but that was a statement. ‘You never really talk about your parents.’” 

Otabek bowed his head. “Sorry. I...I’m not good at talking about...stuff.” 

“Yeah, I noticed,” Yuri remarked. “It’s a character flaw we share.”

“I like to think that we’re just so well matched we don’t have to talk,” Otabek said. “We just understand each other so well that we mindmeld and have no need for conversation.”

“I guess,” Yuri shrugged. They were quiet for a moment again before either of them spoke. Yuri noticed the silence felt natural, and he realized that was something he did love about their friendship. He supposed they were quite similar in that way, and neither felt the need to anxiously fill the silence. They could just exist together. 

“My mom was kind of a...bad mom,” Yuri admitted quietly after some time. Otabek made no movement to indicate he had heard him, but Yuri knew he was listening. 

“She actually, um, sold me. To pay her debts.” 

This made Otabek turn. “What?”

“Yeah, to One Direction.”

Otabek frowned. “The...American band?”

“I think they’re British,” Yuri said. “I was only with them for a short time, anyways. My grandpa eventually took custody of me and I live with him now. And Potya.”

“And Potya,” Otabek repeated, smiling a half-smile that was in-character for a male love interest in a fanfiction. “How is she?” 

“She’s good. My Grandpa texts me pictures sometimes.” Yuri smiled too, at the thought of it. “I miss her.”

Otabek nodded. “I’d like to meet your cat. You speak so highly of her.”

“You should. Meet her, I mean. After the Grand Prix.” Yuri blushed internally at the thought of Otabek visiting him. _How do you blush internally?_

“Right,” Otabek nodded. He picked up his fork and twirled it between his thumb and index finger. “um...I’m sorry about your mom, Yuri,” he added. “That’s really shitty.” 

“It’s ok. Everyone has shitty parents.”

Otabek shrugged. “I guess.” 

“You’ve never talked about your parents.”

“I guess not.” He put the fork back on the table with a _clink._

“Do you wanna…?” Yuri trailed off.

“Do I wanna-?”

“You know.”

“What?”

“Talk?”

“About?”

“Parents?” 

“Oh.” Otabek shrugged. “It’s nothing special. I have a mom and a dad.”  
“Cool,” Yuri said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “Um...any siblings?”

“Yeah,” Otabek broke into a smile. “I have a little sister.”

“Oh! I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

“You should. You should come to Kazakhstan after the finals.” 

Yuri grinned in spite of himself. “Yeah?” Then his face fell. “Yakov would be mad. I should compete in the World Championships this year, and if that’s gonna happen I’d have to start training, like, right after this.” _I haven’t even been training properly for_ this _\- what makes me think I can compete in the World Championships?_ He felt the anxiety gnaw again in his stomach, a little stronger this time. 

“Since when have you cared about what Yakov wants?” Otabek asked. “Besides, you should take at least a little break between competitions.”

“Maybe.”

Otabek absentmindedly reached for the drink menu on the table and leafed through it. He looked up and gestured to it. “You wanna order anything?” 

Yuri shrugged, and Otabek frowned. 

“Wait- you can’t, right? You’re too young.”

“No, I’m 18,” Yuri said. “That’s the drinking age in Barcelona.”

Otabek frowned. “How is that possible? I thought you were 15 like, last year.”

Yuri shook his head. “Don’t think too hard about it.”

“Ok.” Otabek put the menu down. “Well, I don’t really feel like it anyways.”

“Ok,” Yuri said, and that was all.

It turned out they had hotel rooms next to each other, which had been revealed when Otabek offered to walk Yuri back. 

“We can do Morse code through the walls!” Yuri said, bouncing up and down on his heels.

“I don’t know Morse code,” Otabek replied.

“Me neither, actually.” Yuri shrugged. “Well, we can bang on the walls at each other.”

“Sure.”

“You better not be too loud. I need sleep if I’m going to win the Grand Prix on Saturday, which I will. No offense to you.”

“Alright.” Otabek nodded, making no acknowledgment of the fact Yuri had just insulted him. Yuri felt a little bad for being mean- he often claimed he was better than everyone just to keep up an appearance of self-assuredness, but Otabek was still serious competition after he placed third in the Grand Prix last year only just below Yuri and Yuuri.

“And don’t do anything gross or anything. I don’t want to hear it,” Yuri added.

“What would I be doing that’s gross?” Otabek asked.

“I dunno. Bringing home girls or whatever.” Yuri shrugged for the third time in this scene, indicating that I need to come up with some better speech tags. “You’re hot so I figure you’re always picking up girls. No you’re not. Forget I said that. Don’t listen to me. Go away.”

“Ok. I won’t be gross.”

“Ok.”

“Bye, Yurio.”

“Bye. Don’t call me that, either.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Yuri! Sorry, but for hurt/comfort you need to get hurt first. Warning: they almost snuggle in this one *blushing emoji*

“I’m sorry- I’m just a little tired, Yakov,” Yuri said. It was the wrong thing to say. 

“You’re  _ tired?  _ From  _ what?”  _ When Yakov yelled he sent spittle flying in the air. “You haven’t been working nearly hard enough to be  _ tired.” _

_ I’m exhausted,  _ Yuri thought, but he just rolled his orbs. He’d hoped Yakov wouldn’t notice the subtle disrespect, but the ever-observant coach just flew off the handle and berated Yuri more. 

Yuri hadn’t slept well last night. He had woken up again in the night from another stress-fueled nightmare. Never before had he been this anxious before a competition. Not even his first time- but he had been like 4, which was too young to really experience any sort of pre-performance anxiety.  _ What’s wrong with me?  _ Yakov’s volume wasn’t helping his tension headache. 

Victor and Yuuri were nearby, helping each other with their skates. Gross. They kept giggling to each other, the pair always in their own little bubble of romance. Yakov was yelling something about how the Grand Prix was tomorrow.  _ Yes, I know. Do you have to yell at me in front of other people? It’s embarrassing. _

Eventually Yakov wore himself out and grumpily stalked off. Yuri grabbed his phone from where it rested on the top of the rink wall and shot off a text to Otabek. 

_ “Hang out with me or die.”  _ He hoped Otabek would appreciate the classic Yuri bite.

“Wow, Yakov’s just the same as always!” Victor laughed from the bench. “Well, I thought your performance out there was good, Yurio.”

Yuri turned to face Victor. “When?”

“Hm? Oh, I thought the ending sequence was especially nice-”

“No,  _ when _ did I ask?” Yuri interrupted, and Victor’s face fell. 

“That’s not nice, Yurio,” he chastised, and then turned to Yuuri, who had giggled at the snark. “It’s not funny. You think it’s funny?” 

Yuuri nodded apologetically and Victor huffed, turning dramatically away to ignore both of them. 

Yuri’s phone lit up with a text- that was fast.

_ “I’m busy, sorry.” _

[ _ Grrrr _ ](https://ladygeekgirl.wordpress.com/2016/12/09/we-were-born-to-make-history-ill-let-you-finish-but-yuri-on-ice-is-one-of-the-best-anime-of-all-time/yuri-on-ice-yurio/) _.  _ Yuri almost self combusted.  _ I hate him. What could he possibly be doing besides training for tomorrow? Whatever.  _ He stepped off the ice and sat to remove his skates, which were frosted with ice dust. 

<>

He was pretty sure the heating in his room was broken. 

It didn’t really bother him. He was Russian, after all, and his blood ran hot. What bothered him more was the nightmare he had just woken up from. He had shot awake with a rush of adrenaline, tangled in his sheets and a mess of cold sweat- cold both from fear and the air temperature- was the AC on? When he was able to move, he shakily brought his hands to his face and tried to steady his breathing. 

Yuri didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been having a lot of nightmares lately. Just stress dreams, probably. Of course he hadn’t told anyone. Why would he? 

He got to his feet slowly. The room was pretty basic in terms of hotel rooms. The drapes were heavy and scratchy. Yuri walked over and pulled them apart, letting the gentle glow of the city lights into the room. The AC unit beneath the window was rumbling and definitely blowing cold air, despite it being December. Yuri leaned forward and rested his forehead on the cool glass. He watched the little people mill about on the streets below. He wondered why they were awake. 

Yuri knew he’d better try to sleep more if he wanted to compete well tomorrow morning- or today morning, depending on what time it was. But he was still wide awake. He turned to the left, facing the wall.. 

_ Just a few inches of drywall separating us, _ he thought.  _ And soon it will be miles and miles. Why don’t you ever text me when we’re not competing together? _

Yuri kicked the wall without thinking, making a loud thump. Oops.

A second passed and Yuri gave up on Otabek being awake. He turned and made to go back to bed and- 

-Two knocks came from the other side. 

Yuri stared at the wall, heart in his throat. Hello, Otabek. Should he knock back? What did two knocks mean? A few seconds passed, then more. Oh God, was it too late now? Would it be weird to knock back? It was definitely too late now. Well, now it was. He should have done it earlier. But now he was just thinking about it. It was definitely too late. 

Yuri stood back from the window and did a frustrated little circle in the middle of the room. What was wrong with him? He used to be so self-assured, or what some people might have called cocky. Being a one-dimensional caricature of teenage angst was easier than whatever was going on with his emotions now. Impulsive energy rushed through him, and all of a sudden he had crossed to the hallway door and opened it. He was in the hallway. Now he was knocking on Otabek’s door. Oh God, he was  _ knocking on Otabek’s door? _

After a minute or so of anxiously bouncing up and down in the fluorescently-lit hallway, Otabek opened the door. 

“Yuri?” He asked sleepily. His hair was disheveled and he was just in boxers. 

_ You don’t sleep with a shirt on? Jesus Christ,  _ Yuri thought, but he just said,

“I think the heat in my room is broken.” 

“Oh,” Otabek said, and stood there dumbly. 

_ You big stupid fucking idiot, I hate you,  _ Yuri thought, but all he said was,

“Mmhm.”

Otabek turned and looked into his room. He turned back to Yuri. 

“Do you want to come in?” 

“Sure,” Yuri replied. “If that’s ok.”

Otabek moved out of the doorway and Yuri stepped into the room. It looked the exact same as his hotel room, but with slightly different crappy hotel art.  _ I miss my room at home. I miss my cat. _

Otabek sat back down on the bed. He closed his eyes. His face was soft with sleep.

“Why are you awake?” Yuri asked after a moment of standing awkwardly and waiting for someone to talk. 

“You woke me up,” Otabek replied, “when you knocked on the wall.”

Yuri blushed. “You’re that light of a sleeper? Jeez.” Then he added, “I’m sorry for waking you up.” 

Otabek shook his head, as if to say,  _ no apology necessary.  _

Yuri walked over to him hesitantly. After a pause he sat on the bed. Otabek turned his face to him without opening his eyes.

“Is your room cold?” 

“Yeah,” Yuri said. 

“You want to sleep here?”

“Mmm…” Yuri glanced at the bed behind him. The sheets were rumpled. “There’s Only One Bed.” 

“That’s fine,” Otabek said, swinging his legs up and behind Yuri to lay down again. “I don’t bite.”

Yuri stared at him. Otabek still hadn’t opened his eyes. His eyelashes were surprisingly long and unsurprisingly dark. Something about seeing him lying so vulnerable on the bed pulled at something in his stomach.

“Ok,” Yuri said finally, and clambered over Otabek to lie on the other side of the bed. Otabek pulled the covers up over himself. Yuri was too nervous to move. He shivered. 

Apparently, Otabek noticed, because he turned. “Are you still cold?”

“Mmm, a little bit,” Yuri said, and before he could say anything else Otabek had rolled over onto his stomach and flopped an arm over Yuri. 

Yuri stopped breathing. He felt like he was going to spontaneously combust. He realized that for all their months of friendship- most of which were long distance- they had never really touched that much- except for when Yuri rode on the back of Otabek’s bike. Yuri couldn’t lie, he enjoyed riding with his arms around Otabek’s waist, with no choice other than to be pressed up against his back. Even then, however, there were layers of jackets and shirts and denim between their skin. 

Yuri suddenly wished he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Despite the thin cotton, Otabeks arm was still...very warm. It was also very muscular, which made sense for a professional athlete. Yuri could actually feel heat radiating off Otabek as they lay side-by-side, he was like a big human space heater. Yuri was so much smaller than him, it made sense he got cold easier.

“You are very warm,” Yuri noted, and Otabek smiled- still not opening his eyes. 

“Mm.” 

Yuri paused. He didn’t want to say it, but he found the words spilling out of him. 

“Um, I had a nightmare.” 

“Oh,” Otabek murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Mmm, s’okay.” Yuri closed his eyes. He really was very cold. 

“Stop shivering,” said Otabek, not unkindly.

“Sorry.”

A pause, and then,

“Yuratchka.”

Yuri opened his eyes. 

“Hmm?”

“Yuratchka. Very Russian.”

“Yes,” Yuri made a face, “but that’s what my Grandpa calls me. And sometimes Yakov”

“Mm. So would it be weird?”

“Maybe. I dunno.” Yuri shrugged as much as he could with Otabek’s arm draped over his body. 

“Ok. Yuratchka.” 

Yuri made a face. “I take it back. It is weird.”

“Mmk,” Otabek mumbled.

Yuri stared into the darkness, his eyes gradually adjusting to the low light. It was too late for conversation, but there was so much he wanted to say. He knew that if it was daytime, he probably wouldn’t have said it either. 

He really was very tired. The adrenaline from earlier was seeping from his bones. His eyes fell closed on their own.

“Goodnight, Otabek,” Yuri said softly into the dark room, but the other boy was already asleep.

<>

Yuri practiced a flip, just for fun. He stepped into it perfectly, pushed into 3 full rotations, and landed on one leg. No corrections. Perfect. 

Sometimes the crowd watching the warmups before the Grand Prix Final would give little cheers to practice jumps, and he heard a few of his fans whoop from the bleachers. He could spot them from their stupid cat ears and little homemade signs.  _ Davai, Yuri! _ Well, it was nice to be appreciated, as annoying as Yuri’s Angels could be.

Yuri closed his eyes against the bright lights of the stadium as he extended his leg to stretch. 

He had actually slept well in Otabek’s room. There were no nightmares. He had woken in the morning to gentle dawn light -Otabek slept with the drapes open- and the noises of the awakening city, and slipped out of the room before Otabek woke up. They had exchanged cordial greetings later in the morning when they arrived at the rink for the Grand Prix, but neither one had mentioned the previous night. 

Opening his eyes again, Yuri made a leisurely parabola in the ice. He was careful to give the other skaters space as they warmed up in tandem on the ice near him, but he couldn’t help watching them out of the corner of his  eye orb. He knew they were watching him as well, as he made lazy loops and stretched into the movements. Yuri had taken gold at the Grand Prix last year, breaking Victor’s record his first year competing as a senior, and he sensed everyone wondering what would happen now with prior world-record holder Victor and upstart Yuri competing in the same rink for the first time.

Victor and Japanese Yuuri seemed to be warming up separately in their own spaces, but he noticed Yuuri sneaking furtive glances at his fiance every so often. The poor guy was probably anxious. Victor was adamant about not letting Yuuri retire before the Japanese skater won gold, but between both the Russian skaters competing this year Yuri thought Yuuri would be lucky to win bronze. Yuri wondered if Victor would go easy on his beloved, but quickly brushed that thought aside. As much as Victor loved Yuuri, he loved skating more, and competing against Yuuri seemed to have given Victor the motivation he was lacking the last season. 

Eventually, a buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the warmup period. The skaters made arcs across the ice towards their respective coaches. Yuri, Yuuri, and Victor all met near Yakov.  _ It’s like a little chain of coaching,  _ thought Yuri. Yakov coached Victor, Victor coached Yuuri.  _ Like Hypothetical Syllogism.  _

There were 6 people in the finals, but only 4 Yuri cared about- Himself, Victor, Yuuri, and Otabek. Otabek was a strong skater and consistently showed it in competitions, but Yuri doubted he would get on the podium up against the other 3. He’d probably place 4th.  _ Sorry, guy. _

Then there was Yuuri- since his comeback last year he had improved remarkably under Victor’s coaching, winning silver at the World Championships. Yuuri was good- but as long as Victor was competing and giving his best, Yuri didn’t see him winning gold. 

That left Yuri and Victor.

Victor had won every competition he competed in in the last 5 years. Although it was nice to believe otherwise, Yuri knew he had probably only won the Grand Prix last year because of Victor’s absence. Breaking the older skater’s winning streak would make figure-skating history. Even if he didn’t win, it would be ok- no one would be too surprised if Victor won when it was only Yuri’s second time competing in the senior age group.

_ No, I’m going to win,  _ Yuri thought with fire.

Yuri had drawn second-to-last in the skating order, sandwiched between Yuuri, who was third to last, and Victor, who would be the final skater of the day. 

_ If this were a fanfiction plot,  _ thought Yuri,  _ that’s exactly where I would put him. _

Otabek was first. Yuri watched him from a solitary spot in the stands sectioned off for the skaters to view the competition from. Victor and Yuuri were elsewhere, presumably avoiding the rink together- Yuuri didn’t like to watch the other skaters perform or hear the score announcements before he performed himself, or he would dissolve into a mess of anxiety. 

Yuri, however, wouldn’t have missed Otabek’s skate for anything. He loved watching his friend skate. Yuri pulled his knees up onto the bench, resting his chin on his legs as he tracked the Kazakhstani skater’s twists and spins across the ice. Where Yuri had litheness and the flexibility of a ballerina, Otabek had undeniable power. Yuri stared, mesmerized, as Otabek effortlessly pushed off the ice into a quadruple loop and landed to a chorus of cheers with improbable grace. He could easily watch his friend defy physics like this all day. 

Leaping into Lutz, Otabek over-rotated and landed badly. Yuri cringed, but Otabek corrected quickly and stepped into the next sequence. 

_ He really has improved, _ Yuri remarked with pleasure. As much as he hated to admit it, Yuri understood Victor and Yuuri’s affection for each other a little- it felt  _ good _ to like someone with talent.

Otabek swung in an elegant arc to the center of the ice, pulling into a combination spin before releasing into his final position alongside the final draws of the music. The audience erupted into cheers, and Otabek gave a celebratory wave. He was visibly exhausted, and Yuri happily pulled himself into a tighter ball on the metal bleacher seat. He had given an impressive performance, his best yet by far. Even though Yuri knew it was improbable against the odds given the other skaters he was up against, he hoped Otabek medaled. 

Yuuri was jittery from the adrenaline of his performance. He shifted nervously on the bench next to Victor.

“Stop worrying, Katsudon,” Victor chided, patting Yuuri on the arm. “You were amazing and absolutely perfect. The best yet. You got a record amount of points. More than Yurio and I have ever gotten.” 

“Thanks.” Yuuri and Yurio had also beaten Victor’s record last year. “I don’t know if it’s good enough to beat you though,” Yuuri shook his head, wiping his brow. “Or even Yurio.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see,” said Victor with a thoughtful smirk, bending down to stretch his calves in preparation for his own routine. His silver-grey hair flopped in his eyes when he leaned forward, and Yuuri watched the ways his powerful leg muscles shifted underneath the thin fabric of his costume. The costume was beautiful, and a slight variation on Yuuri’s own. The pair’s outfits were reminiscent of the matching ones they had debuted at the  [ exhibition skate after last year’s Grand Prix ](https://aitaikimochi.tumblr.com/post/154771355869) , where they performed their first pair skate. Yuuri blushed at the memory. 

“Look,” he said suddenly, “Yurio’s up.”

The younger skater had appeared at the edge of the rink, speaking softly with Yakov. Although several years his junior, Yurio had still beaten Yuuri last year during the younger skater’s senior debut- and now he had had another year of practice. Yuuri believed Yurio could very well become the new Victor. But as much as Yuuri loved and admired Yurio, he really, really wanted to win gold himself.

Below, Yurio shed his jacket, revealing a costume that was a swirl of pastel blues and whites and delicate mesh. Victor whistled softly.

“He’s really embraced the Agape look, hasn’t he?” Victor remarked, recalling the time he forced Yurio to skate to the softer song in the  [ Hot Springs competition ](https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x4y93ev) over a year ago. Although the contrary young Russian had a penchant for edge and shock value, Victor was happy to see Yurio trying on a different aesthetic as well.

“He did skate a very intense song for his Grand Prix Final short program last year,” recalled Yuuri. “I guess he’s going for a taste-breaker this time.”

Victor nodded, bringing a thoughtful hand to his mouth as he watched Yurio step onto the ice and exchange final words with his coach. 

“I’m excited to see his performance,” Victor said. 

“Me too. He’s really flourished now that he has two serious competitors to push against. Now come sit with me,” Yuuri insisted, pulling Victor down to the metal seat beside himself, “and watch.”

Victor obliged, not taking his eyes off the ice, and they watched together as Yurio skated slowly to the middle of the rink amongst raucous cheers.

_ It was going well. _

Halfway into the routine, and Yuri had landed all his jumps thus far. Technically, he was doing amazing, and he finally felt focused and assured that he would get a good performance score as well. 

_ I’m going to beat Victor and Yuuri. I’m going to set a new world record. _

The song he was skating to was about love, and he had been struggling to find a focal point when performing the routine. He supposed this was the exact same struggle Yuuri had faced with Victor during the first few episodes.

Well, Yuri had found his focus now. 

_ Are you watching out there?  _ Yuri couldn’t shift his attention to look. He was sweating, and he faintly noticed his leg starting to throb. 

He had chosen a costume reminiscent of the  _ Agape  _ one he had worn from Victor’s collection over a year ago. He hoped Victor had noticed. 

_ Notice  _ this _ , Victor. _

Yuri leapt, pushing off strong and making the full four rotations- a quad salchow. He spun tightly, in the air, and landed cleanly on one leg. 

Something snapped when he came down.

“Oh, Yurio,” Victor breathed as Yurio’s leg gave out beneath him and he went skidding across the ice. It was a bad fall, but it wasn’t out of the question that he could still win, as long as he got up right away. 

“Come on,” Yuuri said, as the younger skater scrambled to his feet. 

His ankle flared with sharp, white-hot pain, and he crumpled onto the ice.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _ He could barely hear the audience share a collective gasp over the rush in his head. 

_ It’s fine. People fall all the time. People skate off injuries all the time.  _

He tried to get up. He fell again.

Yuuri put his hand in his mouth as he watched Yurio fall a second time. 

“Is he injured, do you think?” Yuuri asked softly. “It looks like he hurt his leg.”

Victor didn’t take his eyes off the ice.

_ Fuck. I can’t- _

_ Oh my God, do Not start crying. _

But it did hurt, really bad. It was also incredibly embarrassing. To fucking fall like that in front of a million fucking people. And a televised audience. And Victor, and Otabek, and Yuuri.  _ Fucking Victor.  _ He felt heat rising in his face. The ice was sharp with cold through the thin fabric of his costume on his forearms, upon which he rested. The pain throbbed through him nauseatingly. 

_ I absolutely have to get up. _

He had fallen before. He had fallen last year at the Grand Prix and still set a new world record. 

He pushed himself up onto his hands. It took a moment to steady himself on his feet while putting minimal pressure on his left leg.

He heard the crowd murmur with anxious energy. He wondered what the announcers were saying about his fall.

With a steadying breath, he closed his eyes. The colorful spotlights glaring from above were hot and bright and made spots swim on the inside of his eyelids. The music was still playing. He had wasted a lot of time getting up and missed the step sequence portion, but that was ok. Yuuri was always better at step sequences, anyways. Yuri could let him have that, at least.

He found his place in the music, stepped forward hesitantly and nearly fell again.

_ Shit,  _ he winced,  _ that really fucking hurts. Go numb already, why don’t you.  _

Carefully, he skated forward. He managed to halfway find his rhythm again through the pain, stepping into the music and raising his arms again.

The next element was a jump. It was supposed to be a quad- he had wanted to show off in the second half of the program, and putting his jumps later was the only way to try to rival Yuuri and his superior endurance.

_ I probably can’t do a quad like this,  _ Yuri thought,  _ but maybe I can manage a double or something. _

“It really looks like he hurt his leg,” Yuuri repeated. Victor was still watching silently, with wide eyes.

Yurio was obviously favoring his left leg, and it looked like he had barely managed to not fall a third time. He was attempting to finish the routine, albeit painstakingly, and without much grace.

“He has two more jumps planned,” Yuuri noted, having memorized Yurio’s program by now after months of training together, “a quad and a triple. Then a little step sequence, and then the combination spin.”

“Hm,” Victor said.

The pain was actually receding into a dull throb.  _ I must have just landed wrong and the shock got to me. That’s fine.  _

Yuri stepped into the jump and pushed off his good foot into the air, aiming for a double at least. He hadn’t been able to get enough speed or momentum though, so he barely rotated once before he landed. The lack of airtime threw him off, and he landed badly- on his left leg again.

The pain was delayed by a fraction of a second, so he crumpled to the ice first and felt the white hot agony snap through his leg with new intensity second.

_ Ouch,  _ he thought, and that was all. 


End file.
